


The Silence Screams

by JPLabguru



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Grief, M/M, Preller in its nascency, minor (not in my eyes) character death, reactions, the seeds are sown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 18:31:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5550884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JPLabguru/pseuds/JPLabguru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We're not running from this, Jack. Beverly wouldn't."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Silence Screams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [@BrianZeeMD](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=%40BrianZeeMD).



> Preller pain dedicated to my lovely Twitter posse, @BrianZeeMD, @ak_hannicat, @william_grahams, and @LegoHannibal. #sorrynotsorry
> 
> Raw and unbeta'd.

THE SILENCE SCREAMS

March 29, 2014  
Bethesda, Md  
3:12 a.m.

 

“We’re not running away from this, Jack. Beverly wouldn’t.”

 

Jimmy Price stared blankly into the gloom of his den, a bottle of whiskey tucked between his legs. Twenty-four hours ago, he and Brian had sat in this very room, drinking together, holding out hope that Beverly would be found alive. Never in his worst nightmare could he have imagined anyone, let alone Bev, sliced apart like that. Mounted between thick panels of polycarbonate like a gigantic specimen.

But especially not her.

His fingers trembled slightly as he picked and peeled at the plastic seal around the cap. “Fuck you, asshole,” he muttered, “Get the fuck off.” In frustration, he used his teeth to liberate the bottle from its seal, and cracked it open with a snap.

He tossed the cap on the floor, and drank. Five long swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he did, his throat burning raw. No Jameson or Red Breast for sipping: tonight was a night for cheap liquor and a cheap drunk. He wanted to forget. Fast.  
But even half a bottle of whiskey couldn't wash the thoughts from his head as he drowsed, succumbing to his rapidly rising blood alcohol level, from the backwash of the week.

Yesterday, March 28, had started like every morning had since he last saw her in the lab: waking up with a jolt, stumbling through the morning’s shower and shave. A run past Dunkin Donuts for breakfast: a large coffee and half a dozen donuts for Brian, large coffee and a plain bagel with cream cheese for himself. Half-heartedly pushing papers at his desk, Brian on the couch, both eating without tasting a damned thing.

Same as yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that, all the way to March 21, when Jimmy had quipped, “Look what the Katz dragged in,” and when Brian was the last person to see her alive.

Well, the next to last person.

 

When Jimmy’s phone rang, they immediately looked to the other for reassurance, for strength, eyes wide and glassy. The stunned eyes of people who know what waits on the other end of the phone, but who still want to believe in a miracle. Despite their training, and their knowledge, and their cumulative years’ of seeing what inhuman humans do to others, Jimmy didn’t need to look at the extension on the screen to know it was Jack calling. He just knew.

After the third shrill ring, Brian nodded, and Jimmy drew in a deep breath and lifted the handset and pressed line one. 

“SA Price spea-- yes, Jack.”

Brian leaned forward on the couch, straining to hear and not hear, his hands gripping his knees as tightly as Jimmy clutched the handset, oblivious to the fact that his knuckles had turned white, that he wasn’t breathing. He stared at Jimmy, dreading the next words, but needing to hear them.

As for Jimmy, his blood roared in his ears so loudly that Jack’s strained voice was difficult to hear, and he had to ask Jack to repeat what he had said. His stomach turned over, coffee and bagel with cream cheese churning there. 

In as calm and as professional a tone as he could manage, he replied, “SA Zeller and I will be right up, Jack.” He replaced the handset in its cradle slowly and carefully, as delicate with it as he would be with an exceptionally tricky-to-lift partial thumbprint. Jimmy stared at the phone for a moment. 

“Jim -- what? What did he say?” 

Jimmy lifted his head and looked at his colleague, at his friend, and wondered why his request for updated fingerprint recognition software had been denied, what the temperature was right now in the Bahamas, if he could get his hive up and running again, and if Brian would be the next agent down. Or if it would be him.

Brian stood, crossing the short distance to Jim’s desk, and placed his hands palms down against the battered wood. His voice was raw, his smooth tones worn rough from all the whiskey and crying and screaming that week, but he knew Jimmy well enough to recognize that look on his friend’s face. The soft, smoothly unfocused look Jimmy got when he was mentally distancing himself from really bad crime scenes, or when he was too tired and refused to stop working had slipped across his features like a mask. Raising one hand to cover Jimmy’s, he spoke softly.

“Jim. What did Jack say?”

Whether it was the warmth of Brian’s hand on his or the intimate tone of voice that brought Jimmy back the the dreaded present, Jimmy didn’t know. Maybe it was both. He replied in a voice tight with contained emotion.   
“He, Jack said, he said he- he needs to see us. In his office.”

Brian sucked in a quick breath. Unconsciously, he started rubbing his thumb against Jimmy’s, and Jimmy turned his hand over to close around Brian’s. They looked at each other for a very long moment with wounded eyes, these two brothers of science, these two friends now bonded together by sorrow. Brian tugged at Jimmy’s hand as tears blinded his vision, and he stepped around Jimmy’s narrow desk, pulling him up into a tight embrace. His breath was hot against Jimmy’s neck as he pressed his face there, his tears dampening his collar.

“Fuck, Jim. FUCK!”

Jimmy clung desperately to Brian as his own tears began.

“I know…” was the best Jimmy had to offer in reply. He rubbed Brian’s back as best he could, given the crushing embrace he was in at the moment. Jimmy gave over to his grief then, and they spent a horrible few moments letting themselves fall apart. Finally, Jimmy patted Brian’s back.

“Hey...we’d better...you know.”

Brian lifted his head, and nodded.

“Yeah. Better go wash up.”

Jimmy nodded. “We can’t run from this, Brian. Whatever’s happen--”

“Fuck no, we won’t!” Brian combed both his hands through his hair, lacing his hands behind his head. “This is Bev. We owe her that.”

Jimmy exhaled heavily and wiped his face against his sleeve.

“May as well get this over with, then, Brian.”

 

(END PART ONE)


End file.
